The Story of the ShaDar
by whYFeL
Summary: A look into the life of Hettar of Algaria. Mostly centered on his childhood and youth.
1. A Newly Found ShaDar

_Greetings to all,_

_This may get me killed by David Eddings fans and/or mauled alive, but I have decided to write a story dedicated to a character in The Belgariad, the Algar known as Hettar. Forgive me if my potrayal seems inaccurate, since my only reference is The Belgariad series itself._

_Any comment should be directed to the button called 'Review' below (see?). Wish me luck! :)_

_Disclaimer: I want Althalus. And Bevier. But since I don't own, I can't. TT_

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The light of the morning sun made its way through the narrow windows and the front door to fill the large sturdy wagon with its glorious warmth. Just outside the wagon, a young woman with auburn hair could be seen stacking up clean dishes and cleaning the fireplace where she had made breakfast. Beside her, standing excitedly, was a boy of about four, with dark hair and a serious manner – although it did not currently show.

The young child seemed impatient, shifting his weight from one small foot to another as he waited for his mother to finish tidy up the place. Once she straightened and unrolled the sleeves of her dress, he took it to mean that she was done, and he clutched at her skirt.

"Mother, come!" he urged. "Or father will be angry with us!"

The beautiful woman, Sallia, laughed warmly as she wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing before untying it and hanging it on a nearby peg. "No, he won't. But _you_ seem to be very impatient this morning." She fondly ran a hand through his hair, and then held out the hand to the eager child. "Come, Hettar. You certainly don't want to keep the horses waiting, now do you?"

The boy's face registered a momentary horror and he violently shook his head as he took the proffered arm. His mother laughed again as she led the way along the somewhat busy 'street' to the spacious horse pens where her husband was waiting for their arrival, along with a few of his cousins.

Hadran broke off his conversation when he noticed them, and smiled proudly as he beheld his only son's expectant face. As was the custom in Algaria, Hettar was to have his very own horse today as a birthday gift – and all the responsibility of caring for it – which would be followed by a grand feast in the evening, befitting the child's position as the grandson of the clan's herdmaster. Already he had shown a remarkable empathy and instant rapport with the noble creatures for one so young, and his parents had no doubt he would bring great honour to the clan when he grew older.

Hadran approached them and kissed his wife's cheeks before scooping up the young boy and spinning him around to his childish cries of delight. "Well, are you ready?" he asked with a grin, setting his son back on his feet.

"Yes!" Hettar declared loudly, as the others laughed at the display of enthusiasm.

"Good. Now go on, choose your horse," the man said, pointing to the nearest panels at the left. Last week, he had carefully selected four of the finest colts from his clan's herd in preparation for this day, all strong-built and half-trained. He and the rest stood watch just outside the gate as the boy slowly moved from panel to panel, murmuring softly to each young horse as he inspected and caressed them lovingly. Hadran trusted the child's instincts when it came to horses, so he merely looked on without word.

After almost half an hour, Hettar stepped out of the last compartment, stood briefly in thought, then went into the second panel and resolutely untied the slender rope that held his chosen colt in place. Hadran exchanged a smile with his wife and his cousins clapped in approval as the child led out the spirited colt out towards them, handling the creature just as easily as his father would. The proud parents had anticipated what his choice would be, and they were pleased with his decision.

"Isn't he beautiful, father?" Hettar asked eagerly as they drew near. He stroked the chestnut-coloured horse's nose, then beamed with pride as his uncles each ruffled his hair or patted his shoulder and congratulated him. "I already have a name for him, and he likes it!"

"Oh, really?" Hadran asked with a broad smile. "And what would that be?"

"Shan," his son replied firmly. Shan snorted briefly, as if confirming his word.

Sallia gently touched the colt's dark mane. "That is a good name. Welcome, Shan. May you and Hettar journey long together."

Shan nickered softly in reply and briefly dipped his head.

"He likes you, mother." Hettar said matter-of-factly. "I told him he would." He cocked his head slightly towards Shan and frowned, then added, "He said you remind him of _his_ mother – kind and noble."

Sallia blinked, and she and her husband exchanged a quick, startled glance. The others looked sharply at the boy's serious face, but said nothing.

Hadran bent forward to his son. "How did you know that, Hettar?"

Hettar seemed puzzled by the question, and by the grave expression on his father's face, but he answered, "He told me so himself."

The man nodded. "I see." He took the rope from the smaller hand. "Why don't you go and say goodbye to the other young horses? I'll take Shan to the fields, and we'll wait for you there."

Hettar nodded obediently. "Alright. They were sort of sad because I didn't pick them, anyway. I'll tell them I'm sorry and comfort them." With that, he went back towards the compartments, hardly noticing the reactions to his casual words.

The adults moved on to the large meadow that served as their grazing and training fields, talking excitedly. "Do you think he has the ability?" one cousin asked.

"It seems so," another agreed. He turned towards the astounded parents. "Haven't you ever noticed it before?"

Hadran shook his head in amazement. "Not really. He's always been friendly with the horses, and talks to them a lot. We thought it was just a childish habit... until now, that is."

"If it's true, then it would be the first time that our clan has a Sha-Dar after ten generations," the first one said with a speculative look on his face as he absently tugged at his lock of hair. "I think we should keep an eye on that boy, just in case."

"If he's really one of the Sha-Darim, shouldn't we go introduce him at the Stronghold?" a third one inquired, referring to the traditional seat of the Algarian kings, which was currently under the rule of Cho-Hag.

"He's still very young," Sallia spoke quietly but firmly. "Let him grow up and be sure of himself before we announce his status to the others. I don't want him to be overwhelmed by it, or grow arrogant and prideful. He cannot claim honour with that kind of attitude."

The men grew silent at her assertive decision. It was Hadran who broke it. "My wife is right. We should not burden him with such a status right now. As his parents, we shall explain to him about his ability, but we'll let him decide what to do with the knowledge."

The others shrugged. "If that's what you both want, we'll respect it," the second cousin said. "Let us congratulate you both at least on this remarkable discovery."

"Yes, and we're going to have a double celebration tonight, it seems," the third one noted with a laugh. "This boy is going to be the best warrior in Algaria, mark my word."

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_For the uninitiated, a Sha-Dar (or 'Chief of the Horse-clan') is a person who can communicate with horses by thought alone (refer to Pawn of Prophecy, chapter 19)._

_Chapter 1, done! Next, Hettar at seven._


	2. The Tragedy

_Greetings to all._

_Whoa... the responses I get are very much unexpected. 4 reviews for this -- it's very humbling, and scary. I fervently hope I do not disappoint the expectant readers._

_To all who reviewed, I thank you. And I stand by what I write, since I reasoned Hettar was only four years old and with his parents, and so he's expected to be happy. But things are going to take a darker turn now._

_Read, enjoy and review, if you can, if only to point out any mistake I'd inevitably make. Standard disclaimer apply._

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The first thing he could feel was the hard ground beneath him, with sharp jagged stones digging into his skin. He squirmed, trying to move his right shoulder to dislodge the larger ones, but pain seared through his entire body the moment he did. He bit his lip to keep from crying out – a would-be warrior should not be showing his weakness, after all. 

He lay gasping on the ground until the pain subsided, then warily pried open his eyes. His vision swam for some time in front of him, but gradually he could focus. He found himself lying on a patch of empty ground with the greying sky above him, and panic and confusion assailed him. Where was he? Where were his parents? Why did they leave him alone? He had to get up and find them...

He gathered his strength and braced himself, then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. The pain returned in full, but he gritted his teeth to hold back his scream until he succeeded, though he had to lean heavily on his left arm to remain seated. As he tried to regain his breath, he looked down to his feet and saw a broken piece of rope tied to his ankles, and the memories suddenly hit him – the eastern escarpment, the Murgos, his mother falling from her stumbling horse, the blood and her lone scream, and the black horse dragging him across the plain...

The images kept playing over and over in his mind, until at last he could only see the bloodied, mangled bodies of his parents and hear the cruel mocking laughter of the accursed Murgos. The tears he had been unable to shed then finally burst forth as his horror and grief and anger mingled together with his pain and helplessness, and the scream of indescribable loss and anguish reverberated through the uncaring sky.

"NOOOO!!!"

_**0000000000000000000**_

Hettar hobbled slowly through the tall grass that reached over his head at times, grateful of the fact that there was a wide, rough path there, apparently made by horses' hooves. After weeping for some time over his parents' death, he had freed his ankles from the rope and checked for injuries, which included a broken shoulder, large wounds on both his legs, and cuts and bruises all over his back and head. He bound the larger wounds with pieces of his tattered cloak, tied the rope around his right arm to hold it in place, and made his way to the grasslands stretching behind him. He remembered, with some difficulty, that he had to go through it to get to his mother's clan. He had never tried to go there alone before, but now he had to, if he wanted to avenge his parents.

The sound of the Murgos' heartless laughter brought new vigour to his exhausted body, and he pushed on grimly, leaning heavily on the stout branch from a randomly grown tree he was using as support. It had been almost two days since the evening he woke up, and he was nearing the edge where the grass no longer swallowed him, and he could see from the light beyond that it was late noon. He had not had anything to eat during the time, though the brief, heavy rain that fell yesterday caused tiny pools of water to form in many shallow holes on the paths, which became his source of drink. About the only thing that kept him on his feet were his deep grief and the terrible, burning hatred for the murderers – but even those were no longer enough to fuel him. He was shaking violently from hunger and weariness, his whole body was burning with fever and pain, and his head was throbbing in time with his heartbeats. He rasped in breath as he lurched doggedly onward in a half-daze, so it was some time before he realised that he was out of the grass, and there were the sounds of hooves approaching him, more felt than heard.

He quailed for a moment, trying to find a place to hide, then he suddenly remembered what his parents had told him years ago on his ability to hear a horse's thoughts. He closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could, ignoring the dull throbs inside his head, searching desperately to see if the hooves meant friend or foe.

To his relief, an answering neigh echoed in his mind, curious at first, then in sudden alarm. _**You are hurt. Be comforted. We are herd-packs.**_

_**Help me,**_ he whispered.

_**We will come. Wait.**_

The words of the horse managed to calm him. _He was not enemy. Help will arrive._ The assurance gave him an extra bit of strength to his rapidly weakening body, and when at last he saw a group of people – Algars? – approaching, waves upon waves of relief washed through him , and his grip on the branch loosen. He saw a few men slid down their mounts with shouts of alarm – was that his father with them? – and tried to force a greeting out, but he was so tired, and everything was spinning, and he wearily closed his eyes as total darkness finally enveloped him.

_**0000000000000000000**_

King Cho-Hag, the Chief of the Clan-chiefs of Algaria, was nearly thrown from his saddle as his horse, a normally sensible stallion, suddenly neighed and reared his forelegs. He yanked on the reins in an effort to control the stallion, but the animal would not yield. He struggled for some time until he finally calmed it down with words and touch. Being with it for nearly two decades, the king could by now sense its thoughts, so he knew something was seriously bothering the horse.

"What is it?" he whispered soothingly to the agitated stallion.

"My King," the leader of his personal guards rode to his side. "Are you all right?"

Cho-Hag nodded briskly. "My horse sensed something – I don't know what," he said in his soft voice. "I think it would best to follow his instincts, but be ready for anything."

The guard nodded in acquiescence and barked some orders to his men. Cho-Hag stroked the trembling shoulders, knowing it was not from fear, then loosened his hold on the reins slightly. "All right. Show me where is it."

The horse lunged forward at a dead run for a short while before veering left towards a small cluster of tall wild grass some leagues from the eastern escarpment, with the guards bringing up the rear. Near the edge of the field, his rider's keen eyes caught a movement and he slowed down marginally for a better look. Then he suddenly gasped and quickly held up a hand to halt his men.

"There's a boy there!" a guard shouted, pointing towards a young child scarcely more than seven tottering precariously onward with the aid of a large branch.

"Go to him!" the king ordered sharply, his heart inexplicably clenched with dread. What is a child doing out here alone in the wild? Even as several of his guards approached the boy and jumped off their mounts, he weakly lifted his head, then sighed and slowly toppled over, letting go of the branch. One of the men quickly caught him and picked up the slight body as the king rode near.

"Is he still alive?" Cho-Hag demanded, noting with a sinking feeling the various injuries covered only by strips of bloodied cloth and the clumsily tied rope slung over one arm. The man nodded wordlessly with tears in his eyes.

"What kind of animal did this to him?" another guard choked out.

Cho-Hag shook his head. "We'll find out later – if we can get help in time. See to his injuries, then hoist him up to me. I'll carry him to the encampment." He turned towards his messenger. "Bring word of this to Silar, and tell her to ready a bed and the physicians of the clan for him. We'll be there as soon as we can."

The guard nodded, saluted him and spurred his horse, dashing back towards the semi-permanent encampment of the Algar clan where the king and queen were currently visiting.

As guards familiar with medical treatments began to examine him, Cho-Hag motioned to the chief guard. "I want you to take several of your men and trace back his path. It seems that he has endured the wounds for many days, and there may be others with him that we can still help." He doubted it even as the words came out of his mouth, but whatever they would find there might give them some clues as to what had happened.

After the guards treated the more serious wounds with their basic supply, they bundled the unconscious boy with a thick cloak and hoisted him up to their waiting king. The party then cantered as fast as they dared towards the encampment with Cho-Hag gently cradling the inert body to him to muffle any bumping. He only hoped that they could get help for the child in time...

_**0000000000000000000**_

Queen Silar, the quiet dark-haired wife of King Cho-Hag, sat in companionable silence with her ladies-in-waiting inside the large pavilion erected for the royal couple's visit, threading her needle in and out of her embroidery as she calmly awaited her husband's return from his excursion near the eastern escarpment. She seldom worried for him; his reputation for having the fastest sabre-arm in Algaria and his fiercely loyal personal guards ensured his safety, and she found no reason to be nervous.

An out-of-breath messenger from him, however, shattered the calm atmosphere in the pavilion. "My Queen," he greeted, dropping to one knee in deference. "The King sends an urgent message for you to prepare a bed and medical needs for a young child."

The queen rose quickly to her feet, setting aside her embroidery. "What happened? Whose child is it?"

"We don't know, my Queen," the man replied. "We found him alone and injured some miles east from here. It seems that he had been attacked and tortured – by Murgos, no doubt – and King Cho-Hag is bringing him here as we speak, but we're not sure if he'll survive. The injuries appeared to be quite serious and he is already with fever."

Murmurs of concern were heard from the gathering women, but Silar ignored them. "How long will it take for them to arrive?"

"Most probably in the next hour or so, as they were tending to the boy when I left."

Silar nodded gravely. "We shall see to his needs. Thank you for taking my husband's message. You may leave." She turned towards the expectant ladies. "Let us prepare for this unfortunate child's arrival. Please send for the best physicians of the clan immediately."

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_Next up: Hettar wakes up._


	3. Grief and Obsession

Greetings to my readers,

I am immensely honoured and flattered to receive your reviews, and I hope I'll be able to finish this story by the end of the year. However, I will not be updating this until the last week of November, since I'm currently at my hometown and thus too busy to write anything. So please bear with me, and I'll make sure the wait will be worth it!

Now on to chapter three! (Standard disclaimer apply, unless if Mr.Eddings would give me the copyrights, of course! )

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The men in chain-mail shirts and swords and whips were surrounding him, laughing cruelly and toying with him as if he was no more than a harmless mouse. Their scarred faces were twisted and evil, and from all around them there came more laughter and groans. He bravely stood his ground with his dagger in his hands, just as he had seen his father done, but they kept taunting him and closing on him, nearly suffocating him with fear and anger.

Then they were suddenly gone, and he was in the pastures, galloping around on Shan as his parents applauded and his friends cheered. He smiled and waved, and turned his mount to go to them; but now he was running on foot, and his friends were drawing bloody swords on his parents and strong hands were gripping his shoulders. As he struggled to free himself, his friends turned into Murgos and laughingly slashed at his father, and heartlessly tore his mother's clothes off and raped her. And he could only watched helplessly in horror, shock and rage stole his voice and strength.

And then he was lying in a river of dark red liquid which was making him sick, and a large black horse was dragging him by a rope tied to his feet and more laughter sounded _everywhere_ and he could see his parents' bodies thrown at the side... and he screamed their names, again and again.

_000000000000000000000_

Queen Silar gently wiped the sweat away from the small pale face under her hands with a wet cloth as he gradually stopped groaning and writhing in fever and nightmares. The older woman sitting beside her shook her head in grief, tears still coursing down her cheeks. "My poor Hettar," she whispered. "My poor little Hettar."

The queen soaked the cloth in the bowl of water yet again, wrung it, and placed it on the boy's forehead before turning her attention towards the woman. "Do not weep, Aria. He is strong, and the physicians have said that he will live," she said quietly.

"I know, my Queen, but to see him like this, and now an orphan..." Aria gently touched the broken arm, now splintered. "My dear sister and her husband are dead, and now he is alone." Her eyes suddenly glinted fiercely. "Those Murgos will pay for what they did to Sallia and Hadran," she vowed fervently. "Hettar will not likely to forget what befalls his parents. He will make sure that they pay for this, and my clan and his will stand behind him."

"I know, Aria. I know," Silar lay a comforting hand on Aria's arm. The woman had not left Hettar's bedside since Cho-Hag brought the wounded boy into the encampment two days ago and she had recognised him. Yesterday, ten of the king's men had returned from the eastern escarpment with litters bearing the bodies of Hadran and Sallia, and a messenger was dispatched to Hettar's clan to inform them of the sad news. The whole clan of Hettar's mother was currently in mourning as they waited for the boy to regain consciousness.

"And I'm sure Cho-Hag is going to take steps to ensure that this does not happen again," the queen added with an uncommon note of steel in her tone.

_000000000000000000000_

There was light beyond – he could sense it even with his eyes closed. He was lying on something soft and warm, and he sighed in content as he moved his arms to stretch out – but the pain from his right arm stopped him. He gasped in surprise, and suddenly there was a touch, and a quiet, soft voice talking to him. "Hush now, little one. You're not supposed to move yet."

_Mother?_ he thought as he opened his eyes and winced at the sunlight shining directly on his face. He blinked in an effort to see more clearly. "M-mother?" he whispered hoarsely, wondering why his whole body was aching.

There was sadness in the answering voice. "No, Hettar, although I wish she is here." Now he could see the speaker, a woman slightly older than his mother, sitting beside him with a hand on his brows. He frowned, trying to remember where he had seen her before, but the woman added, "Here, drink this." A cup was placed under his lips and an arm guided him into a half-sitting position. He ignored the searing pain in his arm and concentrated on swallowing the bitter liquid from the cup.

The movement exhausted him greatly and he dropped back into the pillows. "Where's mother?" he whispered again. His eyes were already growing heavy with sleep as the hand gently stroked his hair.

"Shh, go back to sleep, my brave child," the woman said, and he plunged back into deep oblivion.

_000000000000000000000_

The next time he awoke, the sun was beginning to set behind the western mountains, and he blinked open his eyes, realising he was not as weary as he was before. There was light enough to see that he was lying on a bed inside an unfamiliar tent underneath a narrow square hole obviously meant to be a window. His right arm was bandaged – in fact, there were bandages on many parts of his body. He pushed himself upright and looked around wildly in panic, wondering where he was and why he was injured so badly and _where were his parents_?

"Hettar!" the voice sounded alarmed, and the same woman from before, accompanied by a younger, dark-haired, regal woman hastily came to his side. "Shh, it's all right, child, you're safe here," she crooned soothingly as she sat down on the bed and enveloped him in a motherly hug. He did not even realise he was trembling in fear until he saw them.

When she released him, he looked curiously at her, and recognition dawned in his mind. "You're Aunt Aria! My mother's sister!"

She smiled at his words. "Yes, Hettar, I am," she admitted with a note of relief in her voice. "I'm very glad you still remember me, considering we haven't seen each other for over a year." She smoothed down his unruly hair. "How are you feeling now, child? Do you still hurt?"

He started to shake his head, grimaced, then nodded. "My arm hurts a lot, and my legs too. How long have I been asleep?"

"Four days, since my husband brought you here," the dark-haired woman, who was sitting on a chair beside his aunt, answered quietly.

He frowned in disbelief and glanced around the tent in bewilderment. "But why?" he demanded. "What happened to me? And where's my mother and father?" he asked plaintively.

Aria's smile slipped off her face, and she exchanged a look with the other woman. She sighed heavily then, and gazed back sadly into his eyes. "Oh, my Hettar... how am I going to say this?"

There was such a wealth of grief in her voice that his fear returned in full force. "You mean... are they—" he could not finish, as if the fear forced recent memories to surface from the recess of his young mind. His eyes widened as he saw once again the Murgo raiding-party pursuing his family and everything that happened afterwards, and his body began to shake with loss and helplessness and grief as he finally confronted the irrevocable fact that his beloved parents would no longer be with him.

"They're gone... those men killed him..." he whispered numbly, his eyes staring sightlessly towards the stunned women. Aria bit her lips at the simple statement, and sorrowfully reached out to gather the shaking shoulders into her arms. The firm, comforting hug – he would never feel his mother's touch again – was all it took for the child to unleashed his full emotions, and his tears lasted long through the glum evening.

Later, as he haltingly described all that had happened with as much detail as he could provide, he felt a new, overpowering emotion began to emerge inside him – the same emotion that had sustained him at the grasslands. It was hatred for the Murgos who had taken away his parents, and a gnawing need for revenge. That was the turning point which marked the end of his childhood, and beginning of his personal war with the accursed children of Torak One-Eye.

_000000000000000000000_

"He witnessed everything, my husband," Queen Silar reported quietly some time after Hettar had fallen asleep in the company of his aunt. The royal couple was alone in their pavilion, sitting pensively on their bed as she recounted what she had learned to her husband. "I believe he will never be the same boy he used to."

King Cho-Hag nodded, obviously moved by his queen's story. "Things like that tend to change people – and he's still very young. He will not forget this easily."

Silar was silent for a few moments, seemingly pondering over a grave issue. At last she said, "My lord, will you permit me a request?"

Cho-Hag blinked. His wife seldom spoke to him so formally, which meant whatever it was would have to be very important. "You shouldn't have even asked, love," he answered, taking her hands in his.

She smiled briefly. "We've been married for quite some time, haven't we?" she began. He nodded, wondering where she was leading with this.

"And until now, I have been unable to bear you an heir to the throne—"

He cut her off with a vehement shake of his head. "You know it never matters to me. That's certainly _not_ the reason I married you in the first place."

"But it matters to the rest of Algaria," she pointed out quietly. "And you know how the squabble over the throne can last for years. Not only that, people are bound to talk about this before long."

The king's eyes narrowed. "Has someone been saying something about this to you?"

She shook her head calmly. "It's not important. It's just that... I've been giving it some thought recently, and with all that has been happening lately—" she looked down and took a deep breath before continuing, "I have said that Hettar is bereft of his parents."

"Yes," he replied carefully, beginning to see her line of thought.

"He has relatives, for certain, and I believe both clans won't hesitate to claim him as son, as is fitting," she added, contending to gaze into the hearth of fire not far from them. "However, he may not wish to stay with either clan, as he will be reminded even more of his recent losses; or both clans may lay claim to him and refuse to back down from their demands. Either way, it won't be conductive for the child."

He smiled gently then, tugging her chin back to gaze into her beautiful, anxious eyes. "So what you're saying is, _we_ should adopt him instead?"

The dark-haired queen nodded mutely, her eyes giving away her answer. His smile grew wider as he kissed her forehead tenderly. "I could never refuse you anything love, not only because it's very seldom you ask for anything, but also because I see nothing wrong with this. However," he added gravely before she could react, "it's not entirely in our hands to decide. I must first seek permission from both families, as well as from the child himself, before we could do so."

She nodded, content with his agreement. "I understand. And I do hope it will succeed," she said, laying her head on his shoulder with a soft smile gracing her features.

"I hope so too... for our sake as well as for his," he replied quietly as he ran his hand through her hair.

* * *

Well, that _does_ seem to be a bit rushed, doesn't it? Next up, Hettar is adopted.

_Nightless Vision:_ Thank you for thinking so. Enjoy this one then.

_Silverdancer, silver20, kiwifire451, cyradis, Cydarill, Rhun:_ Thank you, thank you, thank you!!


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